#everyone go watch hoodwinked now you will not regret it

[lord-of-pterodactyls]

Hoodwinked appreciation post

i fuckin love hoodwinked its so fantastic i think we should just reanimate it while keeping the original audio and not change a scene. Just give it the glow up it deserves because it is THE underrated animated kids movie.

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 7

A/N: scott's pov, finally!! as well as more of my "the empires smp gals deserve to go off, actually" agenda. also check out this rad art submitted by @dancinglifeboat! i also would like to apologize ahead of time, the updates from here on out are probably going to slow down a bit because while i am still extremely motivated to write this fic, it hasn't been as high as it was for the upcoming chapters as it has been for the previous ones. i honestly don't even know HOW i was so motivated to write several chapters so fast that i actually had a backlog of them for a bit and was able to post them daily. so the updates will likely slow down to being every couple of days or maybe every couple of weeks, depending on time/motivation. but yeah! anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: lying/manipulation, threats of violence, past violence, arguing, heartbreak

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

Scott felt just about sick to his stomach every time he looked at the slimeball Jimmy had given him. It was such a stupid little thing to get emotional over, and it was honestly kind of gross and sticky. But Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of it. It had stung more than he cared to admit when Jimmy had reminded him of how isolated and distant Scott was from everything. Staying up and away from the world kept him safe, kept his empire safe. But being safe didn’t make it any less lonely and isolating. And then Jimmy had looked at him like he was the world, and told him that he should be able to enjoy the little things too. Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of the slimeball, even though the memories were painful now. For as much as bluntly being reminded that he was alone stung, Jimmy telling him to leave stung even worse.

Looking back on it now, Scott didn’t really know why he had sided with Fwhip. It was long before Scott had really felt anything for Jimmy, mostly flirting with him to get a rise out of him. That flirting had always devolved into fighting, and it was after one particularly nasty argument that Fwhip had pulled him aside after the meeting and talked about how the House Blossom Alliance would be the downfall of their empires. And at the time… Scott had agreed with him. He loved Katherine, he really did- but there were too many rivalries in that alliance for it to ever truly work. So he went along with Fwhip’s plan- go along with the meetings until an opportunity arose. Then came the addendum of Scott keeping an eye on Jimmy to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem. And then came the plan of rigging the ballroom to explode and blame it on another empire. And even worse- Scott actually caught feelings for Jimmy, instead of it being an act like Fwhip had planned.

So before the night of the ball, Scott had struck a deal with Fwhip. If there was no argumentative behavior during the ball, then he wouldn’t set off the TNT. To his surprise and relief, Fwhip had agreed- and then went and purposefully antagonized Jimmy. And Jimmy- sweet, impulsive Jimmy- had fought right back. Scott didn’t get a chance to pull Fwhip aside and convince him to change his mind before Lizzie had asked him for a dance, then spun Jimmy right into his arms. Fwhip had been watching them the entire time they danced, then left as soon as the song ended, heading up the stairs. Scott snuck away from Jimmy to follow him- only for Fwhip to have flown off by the time Scott made his way up the stairs. Then Jimmy followed him too, and once he spotted Fwhip in the distance with his crossbow, Scott realized he had been used to draw Jimmy out. So he kissed Jimmy, and then Fwhip set off the explosions. It was then Scott realized Fwhip had lied to him about the plan- somehow he had rigged Katherine’s entire castle with TNT, not just the ballroom, and wanted to be sure that everyone knew it was Fwhip and the Wither Rose Alliance behind it all. A show of power, so that no one would mess with them.

So now Scott was alone again. Jimmy felt like Scott had betrayed him- and frankly, Scott had. He should have told the House Blossom Alliance about the TNT, instead of striking a weak deal with Fwhip. Now the House Blossom Alliance would never trust him again, and all Scott had now was the Wither Rose Alliance- which Scott wasn’t so sure if he wanted to be a part of anymore. And at their next secret meeting, Scott found out that he wasn’t the only one with this opinion. Usually they met in Gem’s hidden meeting room, but this time around, she insisted on meeting in the Grimlands, not giving a clear reason why. Scott had thought nothing of it, until the time for the meeting actually came.

“I’m done, Fwhip,” Gem said, not even taking a seat at the table. Fwhip leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at Gem.

“What do you mean, you’re ‘done?’” he scoffed. Gem slammed her hands down on the table, purple magic sparking in the air. Everyone in the room had ranging expressions of shock and terror on their faces. Gem never got angry like this, at least not as long as Scott had known her. Fwhip, however, seemed unphased.

“You lied to us. You said you were going to make a point at the House Blossom Ball. Instead you blew it up! You could have killed us!” she fumed. Fwhip rolled his eyes.

“Gem, you know me. What other point would I have made that didn’t go off with a bang? Besides, Sausage and Scott knew about the TNT,” Fwhip replied with a shrug. The glare Gem sent him was deadly, and Pearl rose from her seat at the revelation.

“I was hoping that maybe Scott was clever and figured out your plan, and just wasn’t able to get the information to anyone in time- but you told him and Sausage?! And I’m not exactly pleased that neither of them felt it was necessary to tell Gem and I what was going on, but the nerve of you to hide information from your own allies, Fwhip!” Pearl scolded. Scott and Sausage didn’t say anything, a little embarrassed- but to be fair, it hadn’t really occurred to Scott that Fwhip didn’t tell everyone about his plan. He had told Scott one-on-one, and Scott had foolishly assumed that he had told the others as well. Yet another frustrating hoodwink courtesy of Fwhip.

“Because I knew you would react like this! But there’s no sense in arguing about it now, what’s happened has happened. Let’s discuss plans for the future, shall we?” Fwhip said with an overly charming grin.

“No,” Pearl said firmly, and Fwhip blinked in surprise.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“You heard Gem. She’s done, and so am I. I won’t be a part of this senseless destruction anymore,” Pearl said evenly. And before Fwhip had a chance to protest, Pearl and Gem stormed out of the room. Fwhip let out a dejected sigh, before sitting up straight in his seat again.

“Fine. Who needs them? We’ll be just fine- won’t we, boys?” Fwhip asked, and the smile he gave Scott made his stomach roll.

“Yeah! Now we don’t have to tiptoe around them anymore!” Sausage cheered, and Scott could only give a weak smile in response. Something in Fwhip’s smile turned sharp as he leaned towards Scott with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“You know, I never properly complimented your acting skills. You really had Jimmy caught like a fish in a net. It’s a shame though- you got a little too wrapped up in the act- not to mention him- and we lost a valuable chance to deal with the Codfather once and for all. But that’s alright- I’m sure we’ll get another opportunity,” Fwhip said in a low and dangerous tone, the thinly veiled threat very clear to Scott. Don’t get in the way again, and don’t try and weasel out of plans. Or he’d make sure he’d regret it.

“R-right,” Scott said shakily. Fwhip seemed satisfied, and leaned back in his chair once more.

“Good. Now I suppose that advantage with you pretending to like Jimmy is gone now, unless you do a lot more than just kiss him this time around-”

“No,” Scott blurted, before he could really think about it.

“What was that?” Fwhip asked, raising an eyebrow. A lie about how Jimmy definitely didn’t want to see him again- which wasn’t really a lie per se, but it wasn’t the reason Scott said no- was at the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t say it. And in that moment, he finally decided to do what Pearl and Gem had done.

“I’m not doing this anymore. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about bringing more pain and destruction to J- to these lands,” Scott said, voice shaking a little but his eyes sharp as he glared at Fwhip. But Fwhip caught the wobble in his voice and how he nearly said Jimmy’s name. However Sausage spoke up and commented on it before Fwhip could.

“You WEREN’T pretending, you actually fell for Jimmy!” Sausage gasped, and the tone of his voice reminded him of simpler times, when Sausage would tease him about his flirting with Jimmy and Pearl would admonish him and tell Sausage to leave Scott alone. Then Fwhip had taken advantage of Scott’s banter with Jimmy, and brought Scott’s world crashing down around him as a result.

“You’ve gotten weak, Scott. What happened to the imposing, cold ruler of Rivendell?” Fwhip sneered. Scott rose from the table at that, glaring Fwhip down.

“I’m finally being the ruler I should have been. I’m not going to let other empires use me for their own gain, and I’m not going to be part of your destructive plans,” Scott fumed, wings flaring and making him seem taller, more threatening. Fwhip chuckled darkly.

“You walk out of here, and you’ll regret it,” he growled.

“I’ll take my chances,” Scott shot back, turning on his heel and exiting the room, ignoring both Fwhip and Sausage’s voices after him. He was done with the Wither Rose Alliance. In fact, he was done with alliances entirely. He was going to stay in the mountains and care for his empire, like he should have been all along.

-

Then the slimeball on the side table by his bed reminded Scott why he didn’t want to stay in the mountains. He would just be exactly what Jimmy expected of him- high and mighty, being too good for anyone. And being alone. Scott had a taste of what a sense of togetherness felt like, and now being alone hurt more than ever. But there was no one he could go to, no one who would trust him. Maybe he could form something with Pearl and Gem, or maybe the two new empire rulers, Shelby and Joey- but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same, not as long as the mere memory of Jimmy’s goofy grin sent his heart fracturing a thousand times, over and over again.

He couldn’t stand being within the walls of his home any longer. His wings itched with the need to spread and take to the skies, and flying always made him feel better. So Scott did just that, taking to the skies and flying nowhere in particular, just far away from all the empires as much as possible. Maybe if he flew far enough, it would all disappear and Scott wouldn’t have to deal with his problems anymore. And maybe with enough distance, his heartbreak would disappear too.

-

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[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part three

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: we got some spicy things happening this chapter folks!! a lot of natasha too and plot and a tiny bit of fluff at the end. i hope you enjoy!! let me know what you think. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one | part two

Mrs Shoreditch had agreed to meet you at the cafe you’d been inhabiting daily as you kept watch on Steve’s shop, and you’re waiting for her now at your usual table with unusual trepidation. Your leg is bouncing under the table, you’re darting looks left and right down the street trying to catch sight of her. You have to finish this job - seeing Bucky last night confirmed that. Looking into his friends and his life feels wrong, and you want to end it as soon as possible. It’s none of your business unless Bucky wants it to be.

She’s late, one o’clock ticking by and then some, anxiety hiking with every passing minute. The file on her husband sits unremarkable on the table in front of you, and you drum your fingers against it unconsciously. The sooner this meeting is over the sooner you can move on with your day, maybe go see your dad, take on some normal clients who don’t have eery connections to your personal life and keep you up at night.

Someone approaches the table and you’re about to feel relieved, until you look up and instead of seeing Mrs Shoreditch apologising for her tardiness you find Natasha standing before you. She blocks out the sun, a ring of red wisps escaping her ponytail lit up like a halo behind her head but the calculating look in her eyes is nowhere near angelic. She looks nothing like the girl you met at the party - gone is the sundress, replaced by an outfit weirdly similar to yours. Leather jacket, skinny jeans, Docs and chipped black nail polish you catch as she wiggles her fingers at you in that same, condescending wave.

“Natasha?” You can’t believe she’s caught you, but you’re technically not doing anything wrong right now - you just feel like you are, with the way she’s looking at you like a ‘gotcha’ moment not gone your way.

Natasha nods, smirking, and says, “What a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, but you know neither of you believe it. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Steve,” she says. It takes everything in you not to glance over at the tattoo shop, giving yourself away. You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your eyes trained on hers, furrowing your brows in an approximation of confusion. She waits a beat, you don’t think you’ve convinced her, but then she says, ”He works over there.”

She jerks a thumb to the tattoo shop and you nod, following her finger with bone-deep relief. It doesn’t last long, tension eating it’s way back up your spine as she asks, “What about you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Been here every day, lady, you think, but say with a tap to the folder on the table, “Work. Meeting a client.”

“Oh?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t question you further, but that in itself is suspicious. Everyone always presses for more with your vague answers - client? For what? Announcing you’re a private investigator kind of ruins your confidential reputation so you often have to work a lot harder than this to keep your work life private. Natasha doesn’t press it, though. Like she already knows. Dread curls low and heavy in your gut.

At that moment, Mrs Shoreditch finally shows up. She doesn’t seem harried, out of breath, or concerned she’s late in any way, shape, or form. She takes the seat opposite you, offering you a smile and placing her ridiculously expensive handbag on the table. With blonde hair tossed over one shoulder, to your absolute horror she looks up to Natasha and smiles at her, too. Recognition, as Natasha returns it.

“You should come over to the shop when you’re done,” Natasha says to you but it sounds more like a demand than a request, shattering the silence with a sledgehammer. You’d miscalculated, somewhere. Something isn’t right.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, making eye contact with Mrs Shoreditch and hoping Natasha understands. You hardly think Mrs Shoreditch would want you going in there after you reveal that’s the place her husband has been shovelling her money into for months. Mrs Shoreditch avoids your gaze, however, picking at her perfect manicure. It clicks, then. You’re so fucking stupid.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha says, ignoring what you said entirely with a sparkle in her eyes that doesn’t bode well for you. She crosses the street, gone in a second, and you turn back to Mrs Shoreditch as a numbness creeps into your veins.

She’s a typical socialite, perfectly up-kept in every aspect and dressed to the nines even for a rubbish cafe in Red Hook. You didn’t think she was capable of hoodwinking you, and maybe that’s where you first went wrong. She finally meets your eyes, apologetic and almost tearful. She reaches a hand out, resting it on the file you’d prepared as if she realises last minute trying to touch you is a bad fucking idea.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I’ve been wasting your time-“

“Natasha hired you to hire me,” you say, cutting her off with the coldness in your voice. She nods mutely, retracting her hand back to her lap as if burned. “You already knew about Mike’s other bank account.”

“Yes,” she admits, rolling her lips together. At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “Ms Romanoff said she’d pay off an instalment of Mike’s debt if I hired you, and I- I didn’t ask questions. I’m so sorry, you seem lovely-“

You don’t wait to hear her finish, standing from the table and leaving your useless file behind without a second glance. You head across the street, for the first time approaching the front door of the tattoo parlour. Natasha knew you’d come here eventually, knew you’d see Steve and start putting dots together. She baited you here, but why? You were Bucky’s fuck buddy, nothing more. Why play this game at all?

You take a deep breath before shouldering the door open, entering the permanent twilight of the shop you’d come to know so well through the lens of your camera. It’s cool in here, the street noise dampened so all you can hear is pop-punk playing low through speakers and the buzz of the tattoo gun. Steve is at the back, bent over someone’s arm and doesn’t break concentration when the bell above the door rings, announcing your entrance. Natasha waits, however, hip propped up against the counter and smiling as she sees you stop at the door, not daring to enter further.

“What do you want?” you ask, calling out across the shop. It draws the attention of the two guys in leather, Steve’s regulars, sitting on the couch in the waiting area. They eye you suspiciously, as does the kid who mans the cash register you often see doing homework instead of his job. Natasha pushes off the counter, beckoning you to the back of the store where you know Steve’s office to be. You follow, heart in your mouth, aware you’re walking further into the trap you hadn’t even known had been set for you.

Natasha closes the door behind you and takes a seat at the desk, covered in stencil designs and files which she seems to entirely disregard as she crosses her feet on top of them, dirt smears be damned. You sit in the chair opposite, back ramrod straight with how uncomfortable you are, and wait for an answer.

“You’re smart,” she says, which is not what you were expecting. You blink, confused by the compliment, and Natasha smirks. “And a lot more observant than Bucky gives you credit for.”

“It’s my job,” you say, unsure of what to give away. Obviously she knows you’re a private investigator or you wouldn’t be in this mess, but she doesn’t know what you know. Not yet, anyway.

“I know,” she says, inclining her head, “I googled you.”

That makes you uncomfortable. Bucky doesn’t even know your last name, how does she? All that she would’ve found is your business website because you’re not stupid enough to put your life online, but still, the thought that she had been trying to look into you makes your blood run cold. You’re starting to really regret going to that party with Bucky - if Natasha’s weird behaviour then wasn’t a tip off, then your deep-dive into their secret lives has clearly shown you there’s a lot more to Bucky than he was ever intending of letting on. Natasha’s intervention in your job merely confirms what you’d already figured out.

“Why did you get Mrs Shoreditch to hire me?” you ask. Natasha regards you for a second, thinking, and it’s a look that reminds you eerily of Bucky.

“I wanted to see what you’d find,” she says. You feel your jaw clench, despite yourself - she’s being evasive even now, and it’s like she can read your frustration because she smiles then, says, “And I wanted to see if Bucky’s choice to trust you was a wise one.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” you say, defensive, too quick. She raises her eyebrows. Frustrated at this cryptic and frankly dramatic conversation, you ask, “Can you just tell me what you want? You’ve wasted weeks of my time and I think I deserve to know why.”

“As I said,” Natasha said slowly, clearly amused at the rise she’s managed to get out of you, “I want to see what you found.”

“Are you going to pay for it?” you snap. You don’t want to tell her - you don’t know why. Clearly, she already knows far more than you ever will, but this is the only thing you have over her and it feels like the most important thing in the world in this moment.  

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “You’ll be well compensated, don’t worry.”

You have a small stare off with the red head before you huff, conceding. That was a fight you were destined to lose, anyway. You grab your laptop from your bag and send a quick email of everything you’d collected to Steve’s business email. His monitor pings with a notification and and you raise your eyebrows towards it, watching Natasha unfold her legs off the desk and lean forward to start reading. You don’t trust her with your laptop as far as you can throw it, so you make sure it’s shut down completely before placing it back in your bag.

Natasha reads for a long time, because you’d found a lot. Her eyes dart across the screen almost too-fast, the set of her mouth growing tenser and tenser as each silent minute passes. You feel a weird, sick sense of satisfaction at that - clearly, you’d surpassed her expectations.

You had been thorough. Pictures of Steve, the kid working the counter, the regulars who park their bikes at the back, the bikes themselves, the inside of the shop from your window vantage point, Sam at one point, Natasha at others, meetings they held and rough angles of deals gone on inside the shop. You couldn’t get a clear shot, but you saw them exchanging money with leather-clad strangers for something. The long hours after closing they spend at the tattoo shop doing everything but tattooing is all captured and saved on your computer. You’d written up a run-sheet of the shop’s routines as well, based on what you’d observed from your little cafe spot - Natasha spends longer looking at that then anything else, mouse hovering over the word you’d written at the bottom. Gang?

You’d researched them all, except for Bucky. He never appeared at the shop while you were watching it, and it gave you the perfect out to leave him alone in your investigation. Steve and Sam had wrap sheets longer than your arm, and Natasha notably had nothing online at all. None of them had social media, which is weird, and the only photo you could find dated back to a highschool cross country picture of Steve and Sam, first and second medals respectively. You refused to look for Bucky. It made you sick just thinking about what you’d find on him, so you decided you just didn’t want to know. Not like that, behind a computer screen in your apartment with a bottle of red-wine half gone beside you. Bucky doesn’t belong there.  

You could have kept digging, given more time. It had been eating at you, though, consuming the hours you were supposed to be sleeping and waking you up when you finally closed your eyes. It didn’t matter how much you found, ten more questions would arise from it, and you were becoming obsessed. So you decided to end it. Clearly, you’d come to that conclusion a bit too late.

“Bucky doesn’t know your last name,” Natasha says, suddenly, shocking you enough to flinch. She doesn’t look away from the screen, but goes on, “He doesn’t know you’re a PI, where you live, what you do in your spare time. He knows noting about you, but he doesn’t seem to care. I told him that was stupid.”

You swallow past the hard lump in your throat. You knew Natasha hadn’t exactly warmed to you at that party but you hadn’t expected this level of- what would you even call it? A threat? You feel threatened, a metaphorical knife to your throat as Natasha finally looks at you again, pinning you down with a cold green stare.

“He’s not in any of this,” she says, tapping a fingernail on the keyboard to emphasis your research. It’s not a question, but you know what she’s asking.

“I wasn’t hired to look into Bucky,” you say, refraining from adding because I have self control and I don’t need to invade his privacy to have sex with him. “Anything I need to know, I can get from him.”

Natasha is silent for a long time, staring at you, and you don’t dare look away. This, too, is a test. After god-knows how much time has passed, she stands and you do too, hurrying to grab your bag and meet her at the office door she holds open for you. Conversation over, you suppose - you’re starting to get used to Natasha’s cryptic ways even if they piss you off beyond belief.

“Delete everything you just sent me,” she says. You scoff, rolling your eyes at her, but she stares you down with the darkest, scariest look you’ve ever received from someone who’s a head shorter than you. You think about that word you’d written in your notes, gang, after one too many red wines and thinking back to the way Natasha looked at you when you described them all as a family. Maybe you shouldn’t argue with her, given everything you’d experienced today.

“I’d cover that window if I were you,” you say, instead of answering. A muscle ticks in her jaw but she says nothing else, so you take your leave. Steve waves awkwardly as you go but you ignore him, shouldering out of the shop and practically running down the street.

Energy burns in your muscles that you can’t seem to get rid of, even as you chose to walk all the way back to your apartment which takes over an hour. It’s anger, you realise, fisting your hair and pacing around your apartment like a crazy person. Uncontrollable rage at being played with, tested at every turn, and for what? You never asked to be a part of this game. You’d never done anything but exactly what Bucky asked and it still wasn’t enough.

Your phone begins to ring, Bucky’s name flashing across the screen, and with a scream of pure frustration you throw it full-force into the nearest wall. It makes a dent in the drywall, falls to the ground and the impact shatters the screen but that won’t stop it vibrating uselessly against the floorboards as Bucky rings and rings and rings.

You won’t pick up. This time, or ever again. And not just because you’ve now fucked your phone beyond repair, either. You never asked to play this game, so now you’ll take yourself out of it.

***

This is exactly why you keep yourself so guarded - cutting people out is easy when they have nothing to hold onto. You change your phone number when you go to get it fixed, and it’s like Bucky never even existed. He doesn’t know where you work, where you live, and you don’t go back to any of the bars you went to with him. It’s easier than breathing to remove him from your life.  

The same cannot be said about removing Bucky from you.

He’d crawled inside your ribcage and stayed there, burnt a cigarette hole in your heart to claim it as his and you hate that. You never allowed him to do that. So he might not be physically in your life anymore but he’s still there, a ghost of a hand on your throat and an ache that might mean you miss him.

His friends are crazy and he’s in a gang, you tell yourself daily, like it’ll help. Like you believe it even slightly. It’s better this way.

“You’re quiet, kroshka,” you dad says, handing you a cup of tea. You remove your thumb from your mouth where you’d been gnawing at a hangnail to take it, smiling up at him in thanks. He doesn’t go back to his armchair, though, rather kicking a cushion off the couch to sit beside you. You dip with his added weight, closer to him, and he allows you to rest your head on his shoulder while you both blow on your teas in unintentional tandem.

“Kroshka is tired,” you mumble. He clicks his tongue at you, which is fair. Shit excuse, anyway. You sit up, twisting to face him, and ask, “How do I know if I’m overreacting to something?”

“With you, overreacting is baseline,” your dad says, grinning as you slap him on the arm. He takes a sip of tea and says, “Tell me.”

“No,” you say, aware you’re being a brat, but what are you going to say? This woman tricked me and she’s smarter than me so I cut the guy I like out of my life because I can’t let anyone in or I feel like I’m going to die? Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

“Well,” he says, giving you an unimpressed look, “If you’re questioning whether you’re overreacting, I would say there might be some truth to the feeling. It’s not like you to be unsure, though. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

“Yes, papa,” you sigh, going back to leaning on his shoulder. He might have a point. “You’ve just raised an idiot.”

“I did no such thing,” he says, placing his tea on the side table to pull you into a hug. You feel small, like you’re a little girl again, and you close your eyes against your father’s chest. Maybe you can just stay here and forget about the mess you’ve made of your life. He rubs circles into your back and says, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya, luna,” you say softly. I love you, moon. You’ve been saying this since before you can remember, your dad whispering it into your hair when he tucked you in at night or you calling across the playground when he’d drop you off at school. In your secret language so no one else knows, a message just for him - from you to your entire world.

“Lyublyu tetbya bol’she, zvedzdy,” he responds, kissing your hair. Love you more, stars.

He sends you off with a bag of donut holes, an obvious reminder you’re both not actually Russian but New Yorker to the bone, and you eat two on the subway ride home while you think. Deleting Bucky from your life is instinct, protection - he’d gotten too close. But really, when you allow yourself to examine the tight knot of feelings sitting in the base of your throat, what’s making you run is guilt.

You crossed a line, investigating his friends. You pried into the life he very purposefully kept you away from and you’d changed your number not because you didn’t want Bucky contacting you anymore, but because he might decide not to and you couldn’t live with watching your phone for a notification that would never come. Natasha will have told him everything by now, probably even showed him, and he’ll never trust you now. You’d blown it. You could be angry at Natasha for baiting you into doing it, but she never would have felt the need to if you had just been honest.

You stuff another donut hole in your mouth to stop yourself from crying. It works only a little bit.

The apartment feels colder, lonelier than it ever has even though being alone was what you thought you wanted. It just allows you to think of Bucky some more, curled up on your couch with the bag of donut holes now empty on the coffee table, sniffling into the sleeve of your hoodie. His smell, the way he always runs hot, the callouses on his hands probably from working in his garage you’ll never get to see now. Stubble, short-shaven hair, tattoos all down his left arm you never gave proper attention to. You can’t remember them all. Just the star, red and big in the middle of his deltoid. You thought you had more time.

“Fuck it,” you say, fishing your phone out of your jeans pocket. Bucky might not have your number anymore but you have his. Maybe if you just called him and heard his voice for a second, just that rumbly ‘hello,’ it might scratch the itch driving you insane. Before you can dial though, you get a notification from your banking app - a deposit from a new contact.

Natasha Romanoff jumps out at you, stopping your heart in your chest. Does she have a sixth sense for any time you so much as think about Bucky? She’s transferred you an obscene amount of money, and it takes you far too long to realise she’s paying you for the Shoreditch case that turned out to be one giant trust test you spectacularly failed. The reason you’re being a pathetic mess alone in your apartment pining over a guy who, as Natasha said herself, doesn’t even know your last name. Get a grip, Jesus Christ.

You open up the notification just to check it’s real and she really did triple the quote you’d given Mrs Shoreditch. That’s when you read what she’s written as the name of the transaction - an address for somewhere in Queens. You should probably at least think about jumping up, grabbing your jacket and practically sprinting from your apartment to an address sent to you by someone you’re 99% sure is part of a biker gang, but you don’t. You have a pretty good idea of what that address means, and curiosity is your biggest vice. Natasha’s sending you a cryptic message and you might not quite understand what it means just yet, but you’re certainly not going to ignore it.

Half an hour later you’re standing across the street from White Wolf Mechanics, hiding in the gaps between street lights and watching Bucky fix up a motorbike. The three huge roller doors are all open, letting light spill out onto the street as well as the thump of a baseline from a song you recognise, because you showed him it. Natasha sits on the work bench cross legged, scrolling on her phone and occasionally handing Bucky tools as he asks for them. He stands, wipes his hands on his skintight black t-shirt and says something into the depth of the shop. Sam appears, grinning wide and tossing a greasy rag at Bucky’s head which he catches easily.

He seems well, and that makes you happy. It’s only been a couple of days since you last saw him but it might as well have been months from how much you’ve spiralled. He might not have even noticed you’d separated yourself from him, and that thought makes you sick. You should go. You need to go. But your feet carry you across the street, jogging into the shadows so they don’t see you. You’ll hear his voice and then you’ll go.

You linger by the farthest roller door from them, sticking outside the pool of light and half-hiding behind the wall of the shop. You can still see them, though, Bucky’s face now turned towards you as he learns over the bike. Brow furrowed in concentration, and you want to smooth out the dent between them with your thumb but that’s not for you anymore. It never was.

“Have you talked Sam about it?” Natasha asks Bucky. You watch him glare at the part he’s holding in his hands and his whole body stiffens. He keeps his back to Natasha so you can see the anger play across his face clear as day.

“What’s there to tell?” he snaps. “You’ve taken care of everything, fuck what I want, so what’s the point?”

“Cut it out, James,” Natasha snaps back, “You know I was protecting you.”

“When did I ask,” Bucky grits out through a clenched jaw, throwing the part to the ground so the clang of metal on stone echoes out onto the empty street, making you jump. He balls his fists up at his sides and says, “You were out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says evenly. She unfolds herself from the table with an unfair amount of grace and steps behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky sighs, shoulders curling in and tension leaking out of his body. You want to hug him, but you will yourself to stay where you are.

Eventually, Bucky shrugs off Natasha’s touch and says, like a moody teenager, “Whatever.” Natasha rolls her eyes, watching him go back to work on the bike with a bit too much aggression that is strictly necessary. She hands him the part he threw silently, and it takes him a beat to unclench his fists and take it. A peace offering, you suppose, in Natasha’s strange language. She doesn’t go back to the workbench, rather staying by Bucky’s side despite his annoyed grumble.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she says, “You proved me wrong, and I’m not too proud to realise that. I am sorry.”

Bucky looks up at her, as confused as you feel because where the fuck did that come from, and says, “Proved you- have you completely lost it?”

But Natasha isn’t look at him anymore. She’s looking at you.

Busted, you think, and you consider turning around and running before Bucky can see you. It’s a bit late for that, though, so you step into the light of the shop and halfheartedly return Natasha’s welcoming grin. It takes Bucky a second, snapping his fingers in front of Natasha’s face like he’s worried she’s actually gone in insane before he follows her eyeline and lands on you.

You’ve never seen Bucky shocked before, but he looks it now as for the second time the spare part he’s holding hits concrete with an ear-grating clang. You flinch at the sound despite yourself, and that seems to shock Bucky back into action. He whips around to glare at Natasha, pointing at you as he does.

“What did you do,” he demands. Maybe coming here really was a bad idea after all.

Natasha, ignoring Bucky completely, walks over to hold out her hand for you to shake. I’m lost, you think, as she says, “Let’s start again. I’m Natasha, James is the only family I have and I’m neurotically protective of him. He’s right to trust you, as much as it pains me to say I’m sorry for meddling in your relationship.”

You don’t take her hand. You’re not entirely sure you want to forgive her just yet, even if she did extend the olive branch to get you here. You fold your arms over your chest and say, “Next time, if you want to know something about me, just ask.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, retracting her hand back to her side and you hate the way she always seems to be laughing at you. Natasha ducks her head, smirks, and disappears into some back office without another word. It’s just you and Bucky, the body of a bike between you as well as the weight of all the things you never said that’s all out in the open now. You’re looking at each other like you never have before, eyes open to the vast chasm of secrets you’ve both been keeping, and for the first time since you met Bucky you keep your distance.

“So,” he says, folding this arms over his giant chest. Not fair, you think, as his biceps flex against the tight sleeve of his t-shirt. Bucky averts his eyes to somewhere beyond your head and says, “You’re a private investigator.”

“You’re in a biker gang,” you reply, mimicking his folded-arms tight-lipped expression. He raises his eyebrows in a silent touché, and now that it’s out in the open you feel something inside you break off, slide down the tense hunch of your shoulders until you feel weightless. You should want to lock up tight, keep Bucky out because he’s gotten far too close already - you should use this blight as an escape. Somehow, though, having Bucky see you like no one else really has doesn’t feel as scary as you thought it would. Maybe because you have something of him, too, tucked against your head and healing that metaphorical cigarette burn. A secret for a secret. You can work with that.

“You changed your number,” Bucky says, and he’s walking over to you now. Guard dropped, hands by his sides, pinning you in place with his eyes on yours for the first time in what feels like centuries.

“I was scared,” you say, coming out more like a breath than a sentence, too transfixed with Bucky being so close to you when you never thought you’d get this again. He smells like car oil and sweat, but you’ll take any gross combination over nothing at all. He places his greasy hands either side of your neck, pulling you closer so practically standing between his legs.

“You know,” Bucky says, rubbing his thumb over the protrusion of your collarbone like he’s trying to turn your brain and legs into jelly, “Nat doesn’t have a high opinion of a lot of people. She means a lot to me.”

“She’s terrifying,” you say, and Bucky throws his head back in a laugh that has you grinning like an idiot. That sound settles warm in the pit of your stomach, spreading through all the dirty guilt and fear you’d been living in for the past few days. Biting your lip as you sober slightly, you say, “I’m sorry for prying, I should’ve just-“

“Don’t,” Bucky says, stern, shutting you up pretty effectively. “I’m sorry Nat is a nosy bitch-“

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice comes from the back office, startling you both into laughing even as Bucky turns to face the door with a murderous glare on his face.

“Don’t you have anything better to do!” Bucky yells, voice thundering through the echoey garage. He waits few beats for absolute silence, neither of you convinced Natasha had actually left, but it’s the best you’re going to get. He turns back to you, small smile on his face so at odds with how rough and messy he looks. Hulking muscle and scars and tattoos and you should be cautious, should be running, shouldn’t be letting him back you up until you hit the wall and he can pin you there with his hips pressed into yours.

But you’ve never been one to ignore something as intriguing and mysterious as Bucky Barnes, no matter how dangerous it might be. Bucky slides one hand up from your neck to splay across your jaw, fingers pressing almost too tight into the soft skin, and you should run from this, too. A reminder, a promise, a warning. You let him.

“Are we even?” Bucky asks, mumbled into the minuscule space between you. You can’t find your voice so you just nod, and Bucky cocks his head to the side as he asks, “You can still leave, y’know. I’ll understand.”

“No way,” you say with a vigorous shake of your head, probably too quickly if Bucky’s amused smirk is anything to go by. You shut him up real quick with a roll of your hips into his, watching with a sense of victory as his expression darkens and he tightens his grip on you. You say, eyebrows raised, “I’ve still got way too many questions.”

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he’s not got his full attention on what you’re saying anymore, too busy using his grip on your jaw to tug your head to the side and kiss up your neck, warm and open-mouthed with just a bit of teeth.

You nod your head towards the bike he was fixing before, drawing his attention for a second as he flicks his eyes in its direction before resuming his trail of bruising kisses. A bit breathy maybe, you say, “Ever fucked someone on a motorbike before?”

“Absolutely not!” you hear a male voice practically scream, and soon enough Sam is practically running out of the back office with a smirking Natasha on his tail. “This is our place of work! It’s sacred!”

“Go home, Sam,” Bucky says into your skin, still loud enough for them to hear but he doesn’t get off you. You’re blushing, making eye contact with Bucky’s friends and wishing the ground will swallow you whole but Bucky just digs his teeth into the crook of your jaw and grins as he watches your eyes flutter shut. This mixture of embarrassment and unadulterated horniness is making your brain short-circuit.

“My eyes!” Sam cries as Natasha grabs him by the wrist and drags him from the garage. Not without a wink sent your way, and you’ll find time to be humiliated by that later. Right now, you’ve got Bucky’s mouth on yours to contend with and it’s going to take all of your attention.

Part 4

~~~

let me know what yall think of this part!! THANK YOU

[hopelikethemoon]

moving in (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: moving in  Rating: PG-13 Length: 1900 Warnings: None, aside from angst. Javi POV. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set “Today” and “Maybe Forever” Summary: Javier moves in. 

Taglist:  @grapemama  @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​

Ever since he left Laredo, Javier had lived alone. 

There had been plenty of women who had crossed through his threshold, but none of them had stayed past the night. And for a long time, that had been fine by him. Until the one woman he wanted to stay hadn’t. 

For a brief three month period after that night, his relationship with his apartment changed. It didn’t feel right to let an interloper into the space — to let someone else lay where she had laid. To see someone else’s hair fanned out across his sheets. 

When the DEA hoodwinked him into fucking another informant for vital and ultimately useless information — he’d convinced her to take him back to hers. Because he didn’t want to tarnish the memory he had preserved in his apartment. For a very fleeting moment he had finally had what he wanted. The woman who had plagued his thoughts for years. 

The reason his apartment no longer felt like home. His furniture remained there, but everything else had been shifted into her apartment. Sure, he had an apartment to keep up the ruse with the DEA — but his home was in an apartment with his girls.

There was no way of knowing if it would last. He wanted it to, desperately, but he was cautious to push his luck. Relationships had never been an area he excelled at and it was the one thing he had to sort out on his feet. Screw the DEA and the demands that came with a pound of flesh — he had all he needed between her and Josie. 

And now they knew. 

Now there was no mystery behind the identity of the father of her baby. The veil had been pulled back, revealing a year's worth of lies that left the director enraged. 

Javier didn’t mind being chewed up and spit out, he lived to be a thorn in the DEA’s side — but he hated how they came down on her. 

“I can unpack for you tomorrow.” She offered quietly as she held the door open as he brought up another load from the Jeep. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

Javier worked his jaw as he looked at her. “It’s not fucking fair.” He ground out, leaving a box on the counter. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow. It’s not right that they’re not coming down on us equally.”

“Don’t push it, Javi.” She warned. “I’ve still got my job. It’s just a few days.”

“A few days without pay.”

She shrugged, “It'll be nice to spend a couple days with Josie.”

He narrowed his eyes, hands going to his hips. “It’s bullshit and you know it is.”

“Javi, don’t pull any shit.” She pointed at him. “They’ll up and reassign me and then what?”

“Then I’ll quit and go wherever you are.”

“Javi.”

“You don’t expect me to just fuck off back to my apartment and keep playing this game with the DEA. Do you?” He accused her quietly. He wouldn’t blame her — honestly. “Baby, come on… after the shit they pulled today, I’m not real keen on them.”

She shook her head. “I took this job knowing that this would be the sort of petty shit they’d pull. I’m a woman in a male-dominated field. Don’t screw yourself over to play the chivalry card, Javi. I don’t need a white knight.”

“I’m not—“ Javier shook his head and turned away. “I’m not doing this,” He huffed before he headed out of the apartment to get another load from the car. 

He didn’t want to argue with her. His first evening officially living with her and he had already started a fight with her. Or the beginnings of one. And he wasn’t even trying to play the white knight or whatever bullshit she thought he was trying. He just didn’t care for the way the DEA had handled things. 

Javier was already jaded about them as it was. 

When he returned, she was unloading the milk crate filled with liquor he’d brought in earlier. “So thankful to inherit this lot.” She grinned at him, loosening the top of a whiskey bottle and taking a swig. 

Javier chuckled, lips drawn into an appreciative grin. “C’mere, I want a drink.” He gestured to her and watched the way she put a little sway in her hips. 

She took the top off again and passed it to him. Javier curled his fingers around the bottle, swallowing a mouthful, before he hooked a finger in her belt loop. “What?” 

“I’m just looking out for you, baby.” Javier drawled out. “Like a partner does.”

“Isn’t Chris your partner?”

“I’ll fucking ring his neck if I have to sit through another stakeout with him.” Javier kept his fingers curled around her belt loop as he sat the bottle aside. “I’m talking about you. The only partner aside from Steve that I give a shit about.” He curled his hand around her hip. “You’re a better agent than all of them.”

She shrugged and pursed her lips as she looked up at him, “It’s the curse of being a woman. I will never be a better agent than any of them on paper. They already knocked me back to desk duty when I got pregnant. It’s just three days. I’ll be back.” 

“How long are we going to do this?” Javier questioned, brushing his thumb over the flash of skin that peeked out from above her jeans. “How long are we going to let them lord over our relationship and career?” 

“I don’t know.” She retreated, grabbing the bottle off the counter and took another drink. 

Javier sighed heavily, dragging his fingers through his hair before rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, let me know when you know. I’ll be ready when you’re ready.” The DEA had already taken everything he was willing to give them, maybe more than he was willing to give. But there was so much shit he didn’t know how to tell her about. Even with her, he kept up appearances — everything was status quo. But it wasn’t. He was so fucking tired of asking how high, whenever the DEA told him to jump. 

He wasn’t the man that came to Colombia. He was older now, physically and prematurely. Crushed under the weight of the shit he’d seen, the people he’d killed, the people he’d lost. He had a family now — he had a little girl who he had to think about. He couldn’t run headfirst into a firefight without thinking about what he might lose. 

“Baby,” He reached out and curled his fingers around her forearm, trailing them down until he could brush his thumb over the faint green bruise that was left on her skin from where he’d held her too tightly after Daniel had been shot. “I want to think about the future. You, me, Josie…” 

“I never thought I’d see the day that you’d be thinking about your future.” She said lightly, brushing her fingers over his cheek. “You’ve always been very ‘live for today’.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. The words he wanted to say to her got stuck in the back of his throat. They were words that carried grief and regret. Pain that she had never meant to saddle him with. “I just know it’s with you.”

Her lashes fluttered and her expression sobered. “I know it’s with you too.” She whispered, her hand falling away from his cheek to squeeze his shoulder three times. “If I can, I want to see this through. We’ve started going after the Cali Cartel and I want to see them stopped.” 

“It’s the long game, baby.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “And I don’t see either of us sticking around that long.” He gestured vaguely towards the window. “Is Colombia really where you want to raise Josie?”

“No.” She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her back to him. “I’m not ready for this conversation, Javi. Not yet.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him, “We just told everyone about us. You’re moving in. Let’s take this one step at a time.”

Javier set his jaw hard and nodded. His eyes flickered towards the boxes that still needed to be unpacked. “Wanna go to bed?” He questioned. 

She nodded slowly, “Yeah. I’m tired.” 

——

By the time the sun was streaming through the bedroom window, Javier was already out of the bed and getting dressed for work. He could hear her and singing to Josie in the kitchen while she worked on breakfast and it made his heart clench in his chest. This was the life he wanted. It was just a little hard to remind himself that it was the life he deserved. 

Javier tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt as he strolled out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. “There’s my girls.” He drawled out, stepping in behind her to press a quick kiss to her cheek, before he moved towards Josie, scooping her out of her carrier. 

“I thought you were going to sleep past your alarm,” She remarked as she sat a plate of biscuits down on the table. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I noticed.” Javier sighed, before he showered Josie with kisses, reveling in the little gurgles and giggles that escaped her. “You okay?”

“Couldn’t shut my brain off last night.” She shrugged a shoulder as she sat down across from him at the table. “I’m sorry about everything…”

“You haven’t got a damn thing to apologize for.” Javier gritted out, before softening his expression as he looked down at Josie. “It’s just three days, right?” He glanced up at her, catching the flicker of emotion she tried to mask. “Baby—”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “I don’t regret it. Telling them.” A faint smile played over her lips. “We don’t have to hide what we have anymore.” 

Javier nodded slowly, nestling Josie against his chest as he reached for a biscuit. He tore off a piece, popping it into his mouth. “I’ll try to get off early.”

Her lips parted like she intended to fight him on it, but she thought better of it. “Thank you, Javi. I really am looking forward to spending the whole day with her.” 

“You’re pissed off, aren’t you?”

“So pissed off.” She laughed. “I thought if I slept on it, I wouldn’t be so pissed off, but…” She shook her head. “Those sons of bitches.” She pushed her hair back and huffed. “Putting me in time out for three days like a naughty toddler.” 

Javier smirked a little as he took another bite of his biscuit. “Your mommy was downplaying her feelings last night,” He remarked to Josie as she blinked up at him, watching him eat. “I bet you’re going to hear all sorts of rants today.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she knows you’re one of the few good men out there.” She quipped, smiling fondly at him. He made a face at that. “Don’t argue with me.” She warned. 

He held his free hand up in mock-surrender. “I had no plans to.” Even though he rarely felt like one of the good ones. Hell, even she had waited three months to even tell him she was pregnant because she had been convinced that he wasn’t one of the good ones. Maybe he was getting there, but he wasn’t there yet. 

“Hey, Javi—”

“Hmm?” He looked up from Josie, staring across the table. “What is it baby?”

“I love you.”

His heart still fluttered at those words. “I love you too.” Javier knew he didn’t deserve her love, but he was greedy and he needed it. He needed both of them. This little life he’d managed to carve out of pain and hell was all that he needed.

[hyungbean]

Baby, Let’s Get Married | Cedric Diggory x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend decides to casually sign his death warrant. (Takes place in Goblet Of Fire)

Genre: fluff, angst

A/N: I love Cedric so much, also Cedric and the reader are in their seventh year in this one-shot.

You were beyond angry at your longtime boyfriend for putting his name in the Goblet of Fire without warning. And you were even angrier now that his name had been drawn; while his friends were busy patting his back encouragingly, you sat across the hall gaping like a fish. People can die in these games and your boyfriend had just been bestowed the honor of meddling with death. 

Of course the world loved to mess with you, because you couldn’t even describe the fury and worry that you felt a mere few seconds later when somehow Harry had also been chosen to participate in the games. You had practically, in Fred and George’s words, ‘adopted’ the misfortunate boy. From the second he flashed his giddy smile at you when you came to his defense during his first year at Hogwarts, you had been a huge softy on the boy. Although it hadn’t been easy these past five years as he always got himself into trouble somehow.

“HARRY POTTER.” Dumbledore repeated furiously, which sobered you up from your anger and brought you back to reality. You had never seen the man so angry before, even at Fred and George. Hermione jumps up first, tugging at the confused boy, before you jump up too hugging him tightly, shielding him from curious gazes. You felt the boy melt in your arms, shoulders shaking slightly which was what he did out of habit when he was overwhelmed.

“It’s going to be okay Harry. I promise you.” You whisper, letting him go hesitantly, turning to face the silent crowd.

Soon you were rushing down the stairs to the trophy room with Dumbledore, Snape, Mad Eye, McGonagall, and the two other headmasters who were yelling furiously back and forth. 

“It couldn’t have been Harry! He’s not suicidal sir!” You yell before engaging in an argument with Olympe who kept insisting Harry was a cheater. You had insisted on going with them, although they didn’t protest because they had instantly assumed you were involved somehow when seeing how close to him you were. As we arrive at the bottom, Harry’s expression is enough to make your heart drop as Dumbledore quickly pushes him against a table. 

“Harry! Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” Harry stammers out a ‘no sir’ before Dumbledore asks him if he had an older student do it for him. 

You weave your way through the adults, tugging Harry to your side, “This is outrageous. Harry wouldn’t even want to participate in these games! This is the works of something beyond him! Beyond us!” You insist as you feel the younger boy, cower into my side.

“The Goblet of Fire is an exceptionally powerful magical object only an exceptionally powerful confundus charm could have hoodwinked it. Magic way beyond the talents of a fourth year.” Mad Eye comes to his defense as you nod in agreement.

Karkaroff pushes Mad Eye and accuses him of being involved angering you even more, “Who even are you dude?” You question to no one. No one answers you but you feel Harry tremble a little beside you which causes you to tighten your hold on him.

The adults crowd around Crouch who looks bewildered as you glare at your boyfriend who shrinks a little under your gaze, ‘we’ll talk later.’ You mouth. You see him cringe slightly, rubbing his neck, knowing you won’t let him off easy.

“Mr.Potter has no choice.” You hear Crouch announce. 

“Like Helga he doesn’t!” You yell, fury burning through my body. As you go to approach Fudge, Harry pulls you back to stop you from doing something you’d severely regret.

This would not be a good look for Hogwarts or your boys.

And of course you were right. 

The first challenge was already putting you at large for a heart attack as you watch Cedric nearly get eaten by a dragon; Harry seems to finish a little smoother using his broom to fly although that didn’t ease your worries. This was only the first challenge. How bad were the next two going to get?

“You know.. I’m supposed to bathe with the egg. Why don’t you join me?” Cedric managed to corner you in the library, caging you between his arms. You were trying to help him find any type of information on the egg when he suddenly just popped up with the answer. 

“Scandalous Diggory, didn’t know you had it in you to suggest something like that.” You smile, meeting him halfway for a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck as he leans down, putting his hands on your hips and pushing you against a table gently. You guys never really got out of the honeymoon stage according to Fred.

You pull away making a noise of satisfaction, “But no. That’s your punishment for entering the tournament without telling me.” He whines, pulling you closer. 

“But you didn’t get mad at Harry.” he pouts like a child.

“That’s different Ced, he didn’t enter the competition through his own doing and consent and he’s my little child.” You smirk, dropping a kiss to Cedric’s jaw before weaving your way out of his arms, flashing a wink before hurriedly heading to your dorms. Not catching a disgusted Seamus who was playfully gagging at Cedric.

A month later it was time to begin the second task. It was only a few hours before the start of the task when a first year informed you Dumbledore needed you in his office. Which didn't sit well with a nervous Cedric who pouted and tried to cling onto you for half of the walk there. God this boy was clingy, but you loved him so it didn’t really bother you all too much. 

“Good luck baby, I’ll see you out there. Make me proud.” You said, kissing him quickly, pulling away before he could wrap his arms around you, your one fatal weakness. 

Rushing up to the office, you were greeted by the sight of Ron, Fleur’s sister and Hermione all seemingly as clueless as you.

“Hey guys. What’s up?” You question confused, going to stand next to Hermione who wrapped her arm around you. Dumbledore and McGonagall were pacing in front of the three gryffindors and young blonde. 

“Ah miss L/N there you are. Well lets get started shall we.” Dumbledore said, approaching us. He seemed hesitant at first, looking back at McGonagall who avoided eye contact with us.

“Terribly sorry for this, really.” was the last thing you heard him say before falling unconscious. 

You didn’t know how long you had been unconscious for, but when you came to you were in the lake, someone’s arms wrapped around your body. Gulping in the fresh air, you gasp, seeing Cedric dragging you to a platform. And you realized just how cold the water was, as you shook profusely in his strong arms.

As you throw yourself onto the platform, Cedric is announced as the person to have saved their ‘sorely missed’ someone first. Although Cedric made no move to celebrate as he kneeled next to you, making sure you were okay. 

“Did I make you proud?” He asked with a cute grin on his face, kissing your nose. 

“Yes, seeing as I’m not dead.” you laugh, throwing yourself into his awaiting arms, kissing him. He hums in surprise before cupping your face and returning it with the same ferocity. Before you guys could continue Cedric is pulled away by his housemates to celebrate. He waves a little before being hoisted up by the rowdy Hufflepuffs.

Krum comes in second, surprisingly dragging a bewildered Hermione out of the water. They had known each other for probably less than a month and she was his ‘sorely missed’? That was somewhat fascinating but remembering how you and Cedric were all those years ago when you first met, you understood. 

Suddenly Ron and the blonde girl broke the surface of the water and you ran forwards, looking for Harry. You frantically look around the surface waiting for him to swim up, when suddenly he comes flying out of the water, landing next to you. Before you know it Dumbledore and Seamus are helping him sit up while you grasp his hand. 

“Harry don’t fucking scare me like that!” you yell hugging him tightly. It only took a few moments for realization to settle in as everyone started cheering. Sighing, you sit next to him as people start to parade over to him. 

Fleur had come over at one point to kiss him in thanks for saving her sister.

Harry always being the hero, making you proud. Though he needed to stop putting himself in danger, there was only so much your health insurance could do.

That night was filled with celebrations to say the least as you were invited to the Hufflepuff dorms to celebrate your boyfriend’s achievement. The party never seemed to end, dancing around with Cedric and ignoring all the hoots and whistles when he dipped you and shamelessly attacked your lips in front of his friends.

“Congrats you big teddy bear.” You mumbled, cuddled up on his chest as the Hufflepuffs around you continued to party.  Linking your hands together he looks down at you lovingly. 

“Marry me.” He suddenly says after a few moments of silence. You jump up, pressing your hands against his chest.

“Are you mad Diggory? We’re not even out of Hogwarts yet?” you whisper-yelled

“I meant after we graduate Y/N. We’ve been together for almost five years now anyway, longer than all the couples here. And we’re the cutest couple here anyway. You’re the only woman I’ll ever be in love with anyway. You are it for me, why delay the inevitable.” He mumbles, grasping your hips, burying his head into your neck. You practically melted into him, running your hands through his soft hair.

“Of course I will Ced. But that better not have been your proposal.”

The third challenge approached faster than you had realized as you were anxiously pacing next to Cedric who laughed a little next to you. 

“Your pacing is making me more nervous sweetheart.” He said, stopping you mid-step and kissing your forehead. He gently runs his fingers up and down your arms, calming you instantly.

“Sorry Ced. It’s just something doesn’t sit right with me about this challenge. It feels off.” You explained, peering up at your boyfriend. He kisses you softly, pushing you to his chest. 

“Don’t worry L/N. I promise to be safe, I’ll always come back to you.” He mumbled, repeatedly kissing your forehead. You giggle and pull away, taking your ring off your middle finger, handing it to him. It was a simple silver band with your family crest carved in the center.

He raises his eyebrows before he slips it onto his pinky. 

“For good luck and protection. It’s a family heirloom, said to be charmed with multiple protection incantations. It has always protected me, now I need it to protect you.” You explained, rubbing his knuckles.

He laughs at your worry, taking your arm gently and spinning you, something he always did when you were anxious. He twirls you into his chest, resting his head on your shoulder, swaying. 

You guys stay like that for a few moments before a voice cuts you both out of your daze. 

“This is adorable really, but the challenge is about to begin.” You turn and see your housemates, Seamus and Dean gagging. Flipping them off, you turn to your man, kissing him quickly.

“Good luck bubs, I’ll be waiting on the other side.” You said quickly, pushing him towards the clearing. He turns and waves at you, the ring glittering slightly.

Don’t fail me now you prayed to your ancestors.

Sighing, you link your arms with the younger boys who were waiting for you, dragging them to find a seat at the stands. As the champions start to walk out you see the Beauxbatons girl chanting something and doing the macarena, honestly couldn't be you. 

You cheer loudly as Ced walks out, smiling when he spots you and blows you a kiss. Dean pretends to catch it, slamming it into his chest, sighing dreamily. This earns him firm smack to the head by you.

When Harry walks out, you cheer shamelessly yelling for your little angel, your maternal side showing through.

Soon they’re being given a pep talk by Dumbledore. When they all have entered the maze you can only sit and wait patiently, leg bouncing up with worry. Seamus and Dean look at you, patting your arm in reassurance. You turn and see your dormmates, Ron and Hermione who smile at you warmly. Although you can visibly see how tense Hermione is. 

It seemed like it had been days, darkness falling upon the stands before there's a flash and Harry is crouching in the middle of the field, hunching over a figure. You feel yourself let out a scream of terror before you heard it. Running down from the stands you find yourself next to Harry, holding Cedric’s cold lifeless hand in yours. Tears pouring down your face as Harry frantically tries to explain what had happened. You couldn’t hear anything as you felt a weight being pushed onto your chest.

You were supposed to have a life together. A big home with three kids, he had said. All those thoughts kept spinning in your head.

God why. Why did this happen to him of all people?

You felt yourself hyperventilating, the stress somehow becoming a blockade in your lungs, causing you to start breaking out into a cold sweat. Feeling hands on your arms, the last thing you saw was the panicked faces of Harry and your dorm mates before you blacked out, faintly hearing Dumbledore call for assistance. 

The black dots shifted into color one at a time and soon you realized you were looking up at the ceiling in the med bay. Recognizing the room easily from visiting Cedric countless of times over the years due to quidditch accidents. 

Cedric.

Oh Godric, it was all coming back to you now. His cold body laying on the grass, his once lively face void of color. You whimpered quietly, sitting up and clutching your blanket. 

“Baby?” you hear a voice croak from beside you. Your head shoots towards the noise, seeing Cedric sitting up on his bed, body turned towards you face etched in concern.

“W-what?” you whispered to yourself, rubbing your eyes to try and wake up from this nightmare. 

“How?” you whispered to him when you realized you weren’t dreaming. He laughs a little trying to get up but groaning a little. You instantly shoot up from your bed, disregarding how dizzy you felt, rushing to his side. Gently, you push him back, trying to pull the blankets up only for him to grip your wrist.

“Hey Y/N, I love you.” He suddenly said. You stuttered a little, feeling his head for a fever.

He’s gone mad.

You looked into his grey eyes, they were full of love and adoration, laughing lightly you kissed his forehead. 

“I love you too.” 

He tugged on your wrist and you hummed going to question him but being cut off when he pulled you into his lap, moving to rest against the headrest of the bed. You leaned against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, one that picked up when you intertwined your fingers together. 

“Your ring worked.” He said, holding up the hand you weren't holding, flashing the ring.

“Thank god. I don’t know what I would do if it hadn't.” You said looking up at him, his eyes glimmered with a playfulness twinge. 

“You’d miss me a lot huh? You must love me then.” He said ruffling your hair. 

With all seriousness, you sat up a little cupping his face, “I would miss you so much Ced. I love you.. like so much it scares me.” You whispered, laughing as tears started to form in your eyes.

He holds your waist firmly, laughing joyfully, “Good. So...you. me. Baby..let’s get married.” He announced, kissing all over your neck and down to your collarbones. You were stuck in pure bliss, gripping his arms firmly, throwing your head back releasing a laugh. 

“Yes. A million times yes.”

Man did you love love.

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Genocide As Movie Trope, Or, Why Are Movies So Reluctant To Kill Off Their Hitler Allegories? Seriously, I Want To Know

Just to warn you, this is an angry one.

Spoilers below the cut for Maleficent and Maleficent: Mistress of Evil.

I’m eternally obsessed with fairy tale adaptations. I’m especially a sucker for stories that retell an old story, but this time, the character we thought was a villain was actually a hero, just with bad propaganda. I love the Broadway musical Wicked, the Starkid parody musical Twisted, and movies like Hoodwinked, Megamind, and Monsters Inc. These stories play with our expectations and create something even more fun and special as a result.

So, 2014’s Maleficent was right up my alley. While Maleficent herself still does a lot of the villainous behaviors she is known for in Disney’s original Sleeping Beauty, Maleficent gives her motives and emotions beyond her previous depiction’s two dimensions. She’s an abuse victim, closed off by pain and seeking revenge against the man who assaulted her. Her people, the fae, are persecuted and hunted by their human neighbors, a clear allegory for racism. And Maleficent’s motherly love for Aurora is what ultimately breaks the curse and gives her the power to protect herself and her family.

The best thing about Maleficent is how grounded it is. Though the setting is fantastical, the experiences of the characters are treated with realism and respect. Maleficent is traumatized – she was drugged and mutilated by a man she loved – and her actions are understandable as a result of that trauma. As the film progresses, and she realizes the harm she has caused, her actions become understandable as a result of the regret she feels. As the film fades to black, though the moment of reunion in the Moors is heartwarming, there’s a sense that the events of the film matter to the characters, and they’ll be dealing with the aftereffects for a while yet.

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil has everything I liked about its predecessor in it. There’s fantasy worldbuilding to die for, with the Moorfolk in the first film joined by the survivors of Maleficent’s people, the Darkfangs. There are more wonderful family moments than I can count, as we see over and over again how much Maleficent and Aurora, and Maleficent and Diaval, have grown to care about each other. And Maleficent is still, very realistically, struggling with trauma from the abuse and bigotry she faced in the previous film. In fact, most of Mistress of Evil has the same kind of realism and respect for its characters’ experiences as the first Maleficent film did.

But then, suddenly, that respect disappears.

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil is a movie about genocide. Queen Ingrith doesn’t just want power or land. She wants the fae to be completely wiped out. She believes in the supremacy of humans over the Moorfolk to a fault, considering Aurora a “traitor to her kind” for caring about them. She spread stories throughout the land to demonize Maleficent and her people.

And she lures the Moorfolk into her castle, under the guise of inviting them to a wedding. Her guards march them into a chapel and barricade the door.

And then they rain a deadly powder down on them, which kills fae on contact.

At the same time, this powder, this weapon, is used against the Darkfang outside of the castle, and holy shit do a lot of people die in this movie, very quickly.

Queen Ingrith is, in a phrase, a Hitler allegory. Her castle is a fantasy-Auschwitz. Her powder, created by experimenting on fae in a room that looks like any other movie’s Nazi laboratory, is the gas used both in gas chambers and on the battlefields of World War II.

And how does this movie end?

Is Ingrith killed? No. Aurora stops Maleficent from killing Ingrith, because killing someone “isn’t you.” This is a common movie trope – the moment in which the hero proves that she is different from the villain because she is not a killer.

But here’s the thing: in movies about genocide, we know that the hero is better than the villain, because the hero is not committing genocide. Maleficent killing fantasy-Hitler would not in any way prove that she is “just as bad” as fantasy-Hitler. It would show that this world does not tolerate genocide.

Instead, Ingrith is comedically dragged out of the castle by a flowering vine and turned into a goat. And everyone laughs about it, and the Darkfangs help the human soldiers to their feet, and everyone stands happily together in the middle of the battlefield for a wedding. Because apparently everyone – all of the soldiers who were just committing genocide against the fae, and all of the fae who just saw their friends and family murdered – everyone suddenly has nothing to fear. All it took was humiliating one person. Bigotry is over. Apparently, Ingrith’s propaganda was the only reason why humans wanted to kill the fae, and all the fae are totally fine with the deaths of their family and friends now, and they all know that nobody’s going to try to kill anybody anymore.

This ignores the fact that the humans have been fearing, oppressing, capturing, torturing, and experimenting on the Moorfolk for years to this point. It also ignores how, just a few minutes ago, those human soldiers were using deadly gas powder weapons on the fae, committing what Prince Phillip rightfully describes as a “massacre.” It ignores how many of the fae just died, locked in a room, screaming and begging to be set free.

Are the human soldiers throwing deadly red powder at the Darkfangs punished for war crimes? No. Everyone laughs, and everyone is fine, and everyone completely ignores all of the murder that just happened.

This film’s response to genocide is neither realistic nor respectful. At the worst possible moment, Mistress of Evil suddenly stops taking itself seriously. It shoehorns an uncomplicated happy ending into a complicated story.

Now, there is a way that this film could have earned its uncomplicated happy ending: by simplifying the issue.

At the climax of the film, Maleficent comes back from the dead, reincarnated by the power of the phoenix. I thought, for a moment, that the phoenix would bring all the other Moorfolk killed by the red powder back from the dead, too. Of course, this would have cheapened their deaths. Once you bring characters back from the dead, you remove death as a stake, and that’s hard to come back from in sequels.

But if you want everyone smiling and laughing after a genocide, that cheapening of death is necessary.

This film expects the audience to simultaneously take the deaths seriously and believe that everyone is fine with it. We’re supposed to look at a true-to-life copy of a gas chamber execution – and yes, that is exactly what the scene in the chapel is supposed to be, the only reason why we find a scene like that scary is because that’s what the Nazis did, the same way that the only reason why we think Star Wars officers look like bad guys is because their outfits look like Nazi uniforms – and then to stop thinking about it. We’re supposed to believe that the Moorfolk just stop thinking about the genocide that just happened, and stop thinking about how the humans desecrated their people’s graves, and stop worrying about humans running away from them or trying to kill them or telling awful stories about them, because yay, it’s time for a wedding!

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil does not present itself as a fluffy fairy tale. But it tries to claim a fluffy fairy tale “happily ever after” ending. The result is a film that says genocide is not that big of a deal, and that people who perpetuate genocide can be tolerated in our society and deserve our mercy, and that victims of violence and bigotry will be fine with it all a few minutes later. The respect that the film showed for Maleficent’s trauma in the first film is completely gone.

I’m probably never going to watch this film again.

[lisinfleur]

Unknown Beast

Author’s Notes | It was a hard one to write. I hope you guys enjoy! Once again, sorry for taking so long! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @lol-haha-joke and anon for 5CW5 Words | 1291 ⁑ Warnings: NSFW, Mentions of blood, battle, violence, rape, and death. Caution is recommended: The following content may be triggering.

You knew him since he was a child. Both of you used to sneak away from his brothers to find hidden spots and different places into the forest when you were younger. You trained together.

You watched as that little chubby boy became the most handsome of the princes of Kattegat, not losing his taste for different flavors you were used to sharing together from the autumn fruits to the foods from the new lands you visited with him.

Hvitserk had other women. Lots of women. And you also found other men. But none was like him to you. None was like you to him. The two of you were fated to be together.

At least, it was what you thought until that day...

That awful day...

You knew they were there to avenge king Ragnar's death. You knew there was hate into all of their hearts and conquering the lands their father wanted so bad was something important to all of them. You knew things were crumbling into his family since that terrible arguing happened in between his brothers, resulting in Sigurd's death right in front of everyone's eyes.

But nothing... Nothing could justify the behavior you saw into that church.

You could understand to ambush warriors into the woods and conduct them into a deadly trap through the road to Repton. You could understand persecuting a fleeing army, scaring them away from their lands after beating them down multiple times in their own soil. You could even understand attacking a town to establish a settlement and a new base for your army in those foreign lands. But you could never find any argument to fight unarmed people that way.

It wasn't a fight...

It was a massacre.

Like Ubbe, you were stunned, looking around, seeing men you used to call your fellows laughing in the middle of all those screaming, killing people that weren't even able to try defending themselves. The loud cry of an abandoned baby in the middle of that sea of blood and horror would have been enough to break your soul, but your eyes caught a scene you never imagined seeing.

Hvitserk was laughing like them...

Covered in innocent blood, he was walking around, taking lives, having fun while people were running in fear and begging for their lives.

You saw him going near the altar, pulling up the skirt of one of those women you knew were virgins, almost priestesses in their temples. Hvitserk pulled her by the legs, laughing as the other monsters your fellow warriors were converted into; throwing her against a corner. His hands lifting her skirt as you saw him doing so many times to Margrethe and many other women...

But that one wasn't moaning his name.

She was terrified, screaming and pushing him away, hitting his arms, trying desperately prevent him from keep tearing her clothes apart with eager hands full of a desire you never knew your friend could have.

In a second, he was more than a friend for you. At the other, you were holding his collar, pulling him violently away from the woman, bashing his back against the stone wall and pointing your sword towards your prince's neck, as if it wasn't an act of high treason that attracted dozens of those men's eyes, including his brothers'.

"STOP!" Ubbe's voice echoed, preventing one of their men to kill you in order to protect Hvitserk's life.

Ubbe knew you. He knew both of you. He knew Hvitserk would never forgive himself for being the reason for your execution and even more, Ubbe knew you would never act like that towards his brother without a proper reason.

"I thought you were many things in this life, Hvitserk... Many things. A womanizer, a drunken, sometimes even a bastard... But I could never think you could be a rapist..."

The word sounded heavy into his ears. Hvitserk knew none of those men were judging him - especially because many of them were doing the same, seconds ago - but somehow, he looked around, feeling dozens of eyes looking straight at him.

"I..." His neck closed and he swallowed dry.

His memory tricking him, remembering him from the early days of your training, when he used to tell you he would keep you safe from this kind of horror of the war. When he used to hear you laugh at him saying you could defend yourself and was no damsel in distress. "Y/N..."

"Spare me from your words, your highness," you had never called him that way...

You were friends.

You were something more for him...

Maybe not anymore.

"Prince Ubbe, I ask you permission to free the remaining men and women of this place. There was enough blood spilling and I'm sure the gods are satisfied with their sacrifice," you said, and Ubbe sighed deeply, seeming to be relieved to find into your words a chance to stop that madness.

"Y/N is right," he declared. "This is not how my father would act or want us to act. He wanted us to have land in this place, but it was never his way to kill everyone around or threaten the innocents! The ones alive shall not be touched! Enough of blood spilling."

"Thank you," you said, turning your back to Hvitserk, starting to conduct the survivors towards the hallways to the deeper rooms of that place, starting for the woman you saved from Hvitserk's hands.

You knew you couldn't save them from slavery, but at least they wouldn't be killed like disposable cattle.

She held your hand, crying repeatedly something you couldn't identify, running towards the hallway when Hvitserk came close to you, translating her words.

"She's thanking you..." he mumbled, sounding regretful. "She's saying 'thank you for saving us', and something about her god to bless you and stuff... Y/N..." he tried to start again and you looked at him, still furious.

"How could you?" you asked, angrily. "I would expect this from any other. But after everything we spoke about this shit and about how you would protect me from this... How could you act like this?"

He swallowed dry again.

How could he?

There wasn't an answer into his mind. Somehow, it got blank. He didn't want to hurt you. It was never Hvitserk's intention to ruin everything with the woman he was intending to propose...

He wanted you to become his wife.

But now he was sure he fucked up everything.

"I lost control... I... I'm sorry," he asked, lowering his head and causing you to sigh, annoyed.

"'I'm sorry' is not enough, Hvitserk," you said, looking at him with disappointment in your eyes. "You're someone totally different from what I thought you were..."

It hurt him and he reacted almost at the same moment.

"I'm not! I'm the same person I always was! I just lost control once, I..."

"Prove me," you cut him again, causing him to gasp with his words. "Prove my eyes are wrong, Hvitserk. Because what I saw today wasn't the man I love," you confessed, causing his heart to clench even more inside his chest.

You loved him.

You would be his!

And he fucking screwed up everything!

"I'll be glad to be wrong this time, Hvitserk. I really want to believe I didn't give my heart to a man who rapes priestesses into their temples and laughs over innocent people's terror. I really want to believe this is not what you are. Prove my eyes are wrong. Do it... Please."

You left, walking through the hallways with your eyes full of tears. Leaving Hvitserk behind with his heart shattered.

He fucked up everything. He knew that.

Now it was time to start working on fixing that whole shit.

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[miss-nerd-alert]

As janky as it looks, the cheap animation is part of the nostalgia for me.

Hoodwinked appreciation post

i fuckin love hoodwinked its so fantastic i think we should just reanimate it while keeping the original audio and not change a scene. Just give it the glow up it deserves because it is THE underrated animated kids movie.